


NFWMB

by a_platypus



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Families of Choice, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Helmet removal, Hurt/Comfort, I know Vizla is not the same as Vizsla but its close enough and I'm running with it, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture, Nightmares, Parent-Child Relationship, Separation Anxiety, Telepathic Bond, The Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_platypus/pseuds/a_platypus
Summary: Between the learning process that came with the accidental acquisition of a child technically older than him, and now having to deal with this new connection due to the little one’s immense ancient power that was spoken about only in legend, Din was complete and utterly, helplessly out of his depth. Powerless against the mental intrusion of what was essentially a toddler. Drifting through space, hopping from planet to planet, with neither a plan nor reliable source of income.He needed rest. Someplace he and the kid could lay low. A week or two where he could switch his brain off and relax. Long enough to cover food and fuel for another month.If they were lucky, this planet might deliver on at least one of those fronts.On the run after the events at Nevarro, Din and the child find themselves running into an old ally.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Paz Vizla
Comments: 24
Kudos: 187





	1. The City of Kybern

Din knew this place.

It was as if his vision was obscured by a thick fog, the image blurring whenever he tried to focus in on the details, but he could remember this day, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. It would be a hard one to ever forget, considering he’d barely survived escaping it.

Nevarro. The Cantina.

Only now he was staring into the blown-out structure from the outside - the aftershocks of the explosion pulsating through his skull and the nauseating, dizzying pain strangely absent. And when he looked to his side, he found Moff Gideon and his shiny stormtrooper battalion, their weapons at the ready. Gideon’s mouth was moving, but any sound that registered through Din’s ears was muted and garbled, as if he were trying to listen from underwater. Din watched, trapped in place beside his enemies, vision tunnelled down to the lone Flametrooper as he disappeared into the building.

Din felt bile claw at his throat, his stomach flip flopping. He was going to kill the child. He tried lurching forward, but Din couldn’t feel his legs. Couldn’t feel much of anything, he realised hazily. He was paralysed. Powerless to move or speak or divert the course of whatever was going to happen next. All he could do was wait for the scene to play out in the fragmented, surreal blur his concussed brain had remembered it.

Except it doesn’t go the way he recalled. The trooper doesn’t fly from the Cantina in a fiery blaze. They don’t survive against all odds. They don’t escape.

Instead, an oppressive heat radiated from the structure as the building was set alight, and the Flametrooper re-emerged, incinerator in hand. Walked away from the flames soaring behind him, unscathed and indifferent to the fact that he’d destroyed Din’s entire world in one fell swoop.

Din could only watch in horror as terrible, agonized screams filtered through the blinding light of the inferno, somehow altogether clearer and more present than Gideon’s words only a few moments earlier. The cries wailed on, even when by all rights the intensity of the heat should’ve burned away their lungs. Hauntingly loud, even when the thick acrid scent of burnt flesh mingled with the black smoke billowing from the Cantina.

The fire burned red, and Din lost himself in the colour. The image morphing from familiar crimson robes, to the dark metallic starkness of blood, to soulless, mechanical red eyes, bearing down upon him.

Din couldn’t scream. Couldn’t so much as put together a coherent thought. He felt weightless and cold. A paradox to the endless, stifling heat around him. As if he was frozen, floating in the open expanse of space, the oxygen sucked from his lungs.

For too long, he was suffocated by nothing but shock and terror. Then, he felt something brush against his mind. He fought against it, initially. Incapable of handling yet another sensation choking him. Threatening to tear him apart. But it solidified in his head with a stubborn persistence, and the more he focused on the presence, the quieter the screams became.

His panic and fear slowly ebbed away to a soft warmth. Nothing like the cruel, ruthless heat of an uncontrolled blaze. It felt soothing and familiar, like returning to the safe arms of his covert after a long and arduous hunt, and Din let himself melt into it.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but it ended abruptly. He was practically ripped from the darkness behind his eyes - startling awake with a sharp intake of breath. His hand went instantly to the blaster beneath his pillow, and in his haste to get up, he failed to notice the object he knocked with a stray elbow.

He did stagger, however – blaster momentarily faltering in his grip - when his shoulder lit up with a sudden, jarring pain.

Feeling disorientated and far too vulnerable without his beskar’gam, Din’s eyes darted around the room as he scrambled for his helmet, settled at the foot of his bed. He jammed it over his head, his heart thudding painfully against his chest, then aimed his blaster at-

Nothing?

Din sat still, muscles locked tight and usually steady hands shaking as he stared into the darkness of his quarters.

Time ticked away with no further disturbance, and he slowly lowered his blaster.

He stretched his shirt over his shoulder, only to discover no indication that he’d even been assaulted in the first place, his skin healthy and unmarred. Though he could’ve sworn he’d just collided against something solid.

Yet, there was no one here.

He tried to quell the erratic breaths fogging up his visor, clinging to the sound to calming, dull hum of the Razor Crest.

A nightmare. Another case of his mind taking his worst fears and playing them out before him. Nothing more.

He should’ve expected something like this. He’d been a lot more on edge lately. Restless ever since he’d escaped Nevarro with the kid.

A weak cry sounded from beneath him, and Din’s gaze dropped to the ground.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he found the child, sprawled flat on the ground. His long ears downturned, cheeks flushed-green, and wide eyes sparkling with tears as he made little noises of distress. Horrified, Din realised that he must have elbowed the child off the bed, and he practically fell to the ground in his franticness to assess the damage he’d caused.

“Ad’ika…” He said, voice cracking on the word as he curled over the child.

Din carefully lifted the child’s robe, stilling when he was faced with the mythosaur pendent hanging from the little one’s neck. Reminding Din of his failure to live up to his responsibility – his claim on the child. _His_ child. Hurting and constantly endangering him when he had vowed to protect.

The kid sniffed, and Din jerked back into action. He brought a gloveless hand to the kid’s cheeks and gently wiped away the wetness there before giving him a thorough check over.

In a word, the little one looked tired. Expressive ears drooped drowsily and eyes struggling to remain open as he leaned into Din’s touch. Din paused over the light bruising at his shoulder, his heart constricting uncomfortably. Other than this, the child seemed relatively unharmed. Though, the knowledge didn’t relieve the guilt welling up in his throat.

The child made little grabby hands and strained towards Din, gesturing to be picked up.

Din hesitated, partly due to his fear of inadvertently causing more harm. Partly because he believed he didn’t deserve the form of forgiveness that came with the child’s closeness.

The kid whimpered, more tears threatening to spill over as he shuffled over to Din’s feet and buried tiny clawed fists into the fabric of his pants.

Something within Din cracked at that, and he hunched over the child, cradling him with both arms and rocking softly as he whispered rapid, fevered apologies into him. He recognised, somewhat distantly, that he was still shaking. Traces of fear and adrenalin from the nightmare rushing thick through his veins.

His trembling transferred from his body to the child, who looked up from Din’s arms and let out a concerned warble.

Din sucked in a breath, berating himself. He’d harmed the little one, and now he was only making it worse by further scaring him with his inability to practise some composure.

He crouched low, intending to place the kid down and put some space between them so he could compose himself, but when he got close enough to the ground, the child let out an ear-piercing screech. The sound was accompanied by a sensation of alarm and agitation that arced through him with such an unexpected intensity that it stunned Din into stillness.

The emotions pierced through the residual panic that blanketed Din’s mind, and for a few moments he was barraged with an influx of foreign feelings that he could neither understand nor control.

Din stumbled backwards against the bed, and a worried apprehension bled through – _not Din’s_. _Whose?_

Almost in response to that thought, the child nestled itself into the junction between Din’s shoulder and neck, pleased to have gotten its way, and Din’s breath hitched at the sudden epiphany that struck him.

 _Adi’ka_.

He still knew close to nothing about the Jedi or the force. If he had known he would’ve been so directly involved with the magic, perhaps he would’ve paid more attention to his history lessons as a child. He was obviously aware of the child’s capabilities. The ability to move objects and heal with nothing but one’s mind. But other than that, Din only vaguely recalled the most out-there of rumours. The enhanced speed and strength. Swords of pure light. Precognition… _The ability to read and influence minds._

The moment he acknowledged the possible source of the emotions, he was able to logically puzzle through which of the feelings were his own - the shock, guilt, an undercurrent of lingering dread, and which had felt like an unannounced guest at the back of his mind – namely being the palpable concern and a surface distress that was slowly falling away to a quiet contentedness as the little one settled comfortably against Din. From there he became dimly aware of the gentle pulsing thrum of calm reassurance that he felt was almost being thrown toward him.

Trying to comfort him.

Din took a shaky breath, then tentatively prodded at the soft ripples of an odd presence he felt wavering at the outer reaches of his skull.

He may as well have granted access to his very soul, because the second the little one noticed the hesitant tug, he came flooding in, all at once, leaving Din wide open and vulnerable to the kid’s push. Din could feel him. Drawn like a moth to the flame of the child’s vibrant presence settling in his mind, warm and safe in all the ways that felt like home. Din swallowed thickly as the strange sensation washed over him.

 _Okay…_ This was new. It wasn’t a bad feeling. And it hadn’t yet threatened to kill either of them. Which was a better sort of new than eighty percent of the other scenarios that he’d long ago accepted with a grim kind of resignation he had zero control over running into on any given day.

Din glanced back toward his bed, knowing that between his nightmare and this new information, there was no chance that he’d be able to return to sleep. He would need time to… process all this.

Knowing that the child was likely to protest should he try to put him back to bed in his makeshift crib, Din balanced him against his chest and brought him up into the cockpit. There, he returned to what he did best. Compartmentalized. Got to work. That was the best tonic, in his experience. An occupied mind. He looked over their coordinates, checking that they hadn’t strayed off course.

 _Nummunr._ Breathable atmosphere. Multiple settlements. Relatively high population density for an outer rim planet. Only a couple more hundred klicks out.

He’d deliberately chosen a planet far from the reaches of the Galactic Empire. Apparently, they had sent their bounty far and wide across the galaxy, and as of present he and the child were a potential luxury that only those that despised the Imperials would dare turn down. So, he played it safe. Steered clear of the Tion cluster’s main trade routes. Selected a planet deep within the Ash World’s sector - close enough to Hutt Space to drive the Imps away.

A soft snore sounded from the child. Din placed a gentle hand over his head and sighed. He settled back against his seat, not much to do other than watch the stars fly by as he let his mind wander.

He shoved back the remnants of his nightmare. No useful information there. If he was going to be terrified it may as well be of something tangible. Like how between the learning process that came with the accidental acquisition of a child technically older than him, and now having to deal with this new connection due to the little one’s immense ancient power that was spoken about only in legend, Din was complete and utterly, helplessly out of his depth. Powerless against the mental intrusion of what was essentially a toddler. Drifting through space, hopping from planet to planet, with neither a plan nor reliable source of income. Barely able to hold himself together, let alone protect and provide for the little womp rat drooling on his neck.

The high price on their heads alone was indication enough that Moff Gideon had survived. Because of course that problem couldn’t just disappear. That would be too great of a gift for life to grant Din. Rather than intimidating him, however, the thought of Gideon out there searching for him made Din’s blood boil - burning with righteous indignation for the destruction of his covert on the one hand and protective instinct for the child on the other.

These past couple of weeks, his newly discovered paranoia had proved helpful when anticipating attacks from Imps and hunters from a multitude of guilds, some of which Din had never even heard of. But it also came with its drawbacks, which at best meant a lack of sleep, and evidently, at worst accumulated into him pointing his blaster at imaginary intruders, the imagery from a nightmare still fresh and raw in his mind. Though he could also chalk that part up to the remnants of a healing concussion. All things considered; his current mental state wasn’t ideal.

He needed rest. Someplace he and the kid could lay low. Just a week or two where he could switch his brain off and relax. Long enough to cover food and fuel for another month. It’d been a harsh learning curve. Cutting off his only legitimate source of income without the covert to fall back upon. And now that he was fighting off hunters every other day, whatever upkeep costs on his ship and equipment he'd had before multiplied. He’d experienced the danger of draining his savings, going too long without work. At the same time, it was a challenge to find a job that hit the sweet spot between low profile and lucrative, whilst also being not entirely morally-compromising.

If they were lucky, Nummunr might deliver on at least one of those fronts.

\---------------

Din must’ve nodded off at some point, because by the time he came to, the Crest was alerting their approach into Nummunr’s atmosphere. He stretched out his back with a groan and leaned forward, flipping a few switches to prepare for landing.

A muffled coo sounded from behind him, and Din twisted around to find the kid with a bucket over his head, his long ears poking out below.

“What are you doing?”

The child’s little legs toddled towards Din’s voice. Smirking beneath the helmet, Din got up and walked over to the child, stooping down to one knee.

“Word of advice, Mando’ika. The helmet tends to be more effective when you can see out of it.”

Either the child picked up on the tinge of amusement in his tone, or he was able to read the affection he was openly projecting, because the next thing Din knew, the kid was sending through his own feeling of delight – a bright spark brushing against his mind. The emotion went straight to Din’s heart, soft and warm.

Mindful of the child’s ears, Din gently removed the bucket, and the little one’s eyes lit up at his presence, as if Din had suddenly appeared from nothingness.

“We’re about to touch down. You ready to stretch those legs?”

The child responded with a happy chirp, and Din lifted him into his arms, bouncing a little as he approached the kid’s seat.

“Ah!” The child exclaimed, and Din paused, glancing down at him.

The kid’s eyes were glued toward the viewport, taking in the new landscape outside.

The ground was covered with a lush jungle canopy of green - a nice change of pace from the multitude of desert planets they’d held out in recently. What had captured the child’s attention, however, was the lone, giant, looming turquoise crystal that emerged from the trees. Its pinnacle reached high into the sky – the immense scale of the rock making the Crest feel miniscule in comparison. On closer inspection, Din could spot the sun’s light glinting off glass structures protruding precariously from the crystal or carved into the stone itself, attached by a labyrinth of overhanging bridges and staircases.

Din could feel the kid’s wonder and delight – his awe intermingling with Din’s own.

“Yeah… Not something you see every day.” Din mused.

Passing the crystal, Din strapped the child into his seat, then searched for someplace discrete to land as he returned to his own.

The Crest gave an unsettling mix of creaks and sputters as they dropped to the ground, but nonetheless, Din was able to safely set them down beside a river. The child squirmed in his seat the moment he shut off the engine, and Din could feel the prickle of eager impatience emanating from the little one.

“Okay, I’m coming, alright?”

He could understand the restlessness. They’d been cooped up in the Crest for days. Even Din had been itching for some fresh air himself.

Released from the confines of his seat and bay doors opened, the child ventured out onto solid ground. Din allowed the little one to wander around the area, ensuring that he was within his line of sight as he looked over the Razor Crest.

He gave a frustrated growl as he finished his examination, displeased with what he found. His previous hopes that he’d sustained no damage in their last firefight crushed. His ship was going to need new parts. Most of the repairs, Din could do himself. But it was going to be costly. Expenses that he had no way of currently paying.

His gaze wandered over to the child, sitting beside a small pile of stacked rocks along the river’s shoreline.

“Hey!” He called.

The child glanced up, his cheeks round and full.

“What have you got in your mouth?”

The child gazed up at him innocently, and what looked like a tail popped out from his lips.

Din approached him, prepared to make a dive for whatever was in the child’s mouth should he try and swallow.

“We talked about this. No unidentified creatures. Spit it out.”

The child’s eyes went wide and sparkly, and Din felt the flicker of that prickle-burr feeling again, foreign emotion scraping against him - pleading at his mind. He was caught off guard by the sensation for a moment, before he got with the program and doubled down by combatting the emotion with his own sense of uncompromising resolve.

“Hey. No. Don’t give me that.” He pointed to the ground, “Out. Now.”

The child stood his ground for a few more seconds, testing Din, before he gave in with a quiet, “bleh.” And the cretin fell from the kid’s mouth in a slobbery mess.

The creature’s beady eye glared up at Din accusingly, its pupil smoothly curving into W-shape. Then three slits below its eye opened and it breathed outward with a low hiss. Din thanked his ancestors that the child had a semblance of self-preservation to pick a creature without teeth, claws or spurs that could harm him.

It slithered away – its scales shimmering with an iridescent silver sheen. Din watched it go, hoping that it hadn’t secreted anything toxic into the child’s mouth.

He felt slightly bad about making the little one forego another meal. They’d been living off of rations for what felt like weeks.

“We’ll go into town and I’ll find you something edible.” He promised.

Still sensing the kid’s dejection, Din tried to redirect the child’s interest, “You want to see the big pretty crystal up close?”

The child chirped, the gloom disappearing from his face.

He secured what weaponry he could to himself, then scooped up the child and placed him into a carrier bag. The kid had only managed to grow increasingly clingy since Nevarro, withdrawing from anyone unfamiliar and becoming anxious and teary-eyed even when Din left the room to grab something. He hadn’t figured out a long-term solution to that just yet, so he’d resorted to strapping him to his back for convenience sake.

He rather quickly discovered how badly he’d underestimated the denseness of the jungle’s undergrowth - having to navigate and climb his way through vast areas of thick, tangled vines, shrubs, and ferns. Their trip likely took twice as long as it could’ve had they been able to take a direct route to the city.

When they did emerge, Din found that beneath his armour, he was saturated with sweat – the humidity and moisture clinging to the beskar.

Standing beneath the crystal, he was once again struck by the way it towered over the landscape, the sky around the colossal stone abuzz with Airspeeders.

He began to ascend the multitude of stairs and bridges curling around the stone, hyperaware of the crowds around him – the amalgamation of alien languages filtering through the universal translator fitted into his helmet. The place was closely packed, the majority of the population confined to the vertical expanse of the crystal.

The higher he climbed, the more tense he became when crossing the bridges stretched from platform to platform. The great wooden structures swaying and creaking under the weight of the crowds.

He stopped at one of the structures jutting out from the crystal, hanging seemingly weightlessly in the sky. Din could make out enough of the language on the sign above the door to know that this was a place of lodging.

Upon his entrance, a couple of the patrons at tables neighbouring the entry went quiet. Din went straight for the Mirialan innkeep and requested a room, eager to be free of the prying looks that came with being a fully armed and armoured Mandalorian.

“You serve food here?” He asked.

“We do.” She replied, pushing a menu toward him.

Din gave it a brief skim, pointing out a few things.

“I’ll have it sent to the room.” She said, looking at his beskar’gam pointedly.

Din nodded, thankful for her understanding.

Inside his room, the strange architecture continued. The ceiling was lined with stained glass that casted shadows of colour across the room, each pane of glass giving the crystal on the other side a new hue. A warble sounded from his carrier bag, and Din carefully dropped it to the floor before pulling the child out. The little one was immediately enraptured by his surroundings.

“Hm… Hopefully not as fragile as it looks.”

The child chirped, then tottered towards the clear wall of glass on one side of the room – pressing his face up against the glass and looking over the vast landscape of green jungle.

Din fell to the bed, his eyes falling shut the moment he hit the pillow, exhaustion having finally caught up with him. His head throbbed with the tell-tale sign of an approaching migraine. An ailment that’d grown quite common since Nevarro – another ‘souvenir’ from Moff Gideon. The human brain was a delicate, fickle thing, and there was only so much a bacta-spray could do to fix the trauma from the explosion.

There was a knock at the door, and Din rose with a tired groan, retrieving their food. He fed the child first, who seemed ecstatic at the prospect of eating something other than rations, gobbling down the spiced Nuna within a matter of minutes. Din’s own stomach growled hungrily at him, but he hesitated at the open plane of glass. He knew that the windows were tinted. That it was impossible for anyone to see in from the outside. But he was still uncomfortable with the thought of removing his helmet in front of others he could see flying by, even though they had no way of seeing in.

He set down his meal. The kid leaned against him, full-bellied and heavy-eyed.

“I think it’s naptime for you.” Din noted.

The child responded with a little yawn. Din picked him up and plopped him down onto the bed and it didn’t take much effort on his part to coax the child to sleep. Din would’ve happily joined him. Could’ve slept out a full standard day given the chance, but there was a reason they had stopped here. He needed to find a job.

He left the child in the room and returned to the innkeep.

“I’m looking for work.” He stated, straight to the point.

The Mirialan looked him up and down, the tattoos at her brows drawing together as she frowned.

“This is a time of peace, Mandalorian. You won’t find any bounties here.”

He tried to quell the rising frustration, forcing himself to not point out the irony of having two of the highest paying bounties in the galaxy staying under her roof.

“Why?”

“The overseers have outlawed any form of underground market in Kybern City.”

No bounty hunting. Fine. He’d just have to find some alternative means of labour.

“There anyone you can think of that might require aid?” He asked.

She thought for a moment, fingernails tapping against the wooden counter, then shrugged, “You’d have to ask around yourself.”

_Helpful._

Din kept his mouth shut, stepping away with a nod.

Surely _someone_ in this city was willing to pay him.


	2. Tomad

As a bounty hunter, Din had been able to control the ground, prepare accordingly for a fight depending on the information he was able to gather – hit his targets when they were most vulnerable. Lately however, Din’s life had become unsettlingly more reactionary. Rather than pursuing the trouble, more and more often, Din unknowingly fell headfirst into it.

In retrospect, this occasion was a rather good example of that. He’d been wandering around in the thick of the city, looking for some luck to chance upon him, when a small hand took grasp of Din’s hand.

“Mr!” The boy cried.

Din stilled and looked down at his glove in the little one’s grip. The young human’s face was red and blotchy, snot and tears running freely down his face.

“Mr. please, you have to help!”

“What?”

“My mother.” He sniffed, using his free hand to wipe at his eyes, “She… She needs help. I’ll take you to her!”

Din frowned, hesitating, “Help with what?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head fervently.

“Please, sir! There’s no time.” He begged, tugging frantically at the fabric of Din’s sleeve, practically dragging Din across the ground, “ _Please._ ”

Din could hardly turn down one so young, especially when he was so clearly distressed.

He let the kid lead him, through crowds and over bridges, between alleys and down a row of staircases, before they reached a more secluded area of the city. They wound around the endless walls of the crystal until the young boy stopped at a hollowed-out corner, etched into the stone. He stepped inside, gesturing Din to follow, then pointed down to a wooden ladder that lead down a hole, deeper into the crystal itself.

“Down there.”

Din tiled his head, examining the small entrance, “Really?”

The kid nodded; his eyes wide and pleading.

For some reason, something about this whole scenario just screamed _wrong_ to him. The siren blared in his head, a red flag was being waved in front of his face, but the puzzle pieces didn’t click. Despite his gut instinct, Din gave a deep sigh and began the climb down. He’d come this far. There was no point turning his back on the boy now.

The crevice below appeared to be a chiselled-out cave. The small area opened out to the world outside, allowing a violent gust to funnel through the chamber. Din couldn’t understand why the boy had led him here. As far as he could see, the only present danger was the intensity with which the wind whipped at him, threatening to rock him off his heels, combined with the fact there was no structure to prevent him from plummeting down to the ground below.

“Kid-” Din turned, unease prickling at him when he found that the kid hadn’t followed him down. He glanced up towards the top of the ladder, calling louder, “Kid!”

No response. The hairs along his arms prickled upwards, the alarm bells going off at the back of his mind only rising in volume.

Din was reaching for his blaster when suddenly his whole vision shifted as his feet were taken out from under him. He grunted as the solid weight tackled him at the waist and lifted him from the ground, and being so thoroughly discombobulated, it wasn’t until Din was being thrown him toward the open abyss outside that his senses returned.

Din’s mind kicked back into gear and all at once, he was scrabbling for purchase, his blaster forgotten, falling from his grip as he desperately clung for a hold on the crystal ledge, his legs dangling in the breeze. Din felt his heart in his throat, pumping wildly as light, steady footsteps approached above him, intending to finish the job.

_Should’ve brought the damn jetpack._

Din activated the flamethrower at his wrist, forcing his attacker to decide between backing up or bearing the brunt of the fire.

Considering that no boot came to stamp at his fingers, Din took a safe bet that they’d chosen the former, and as fast as he could manage, he began to pull himself back up. Din groaned from the effort, his arm and back muscles strained under the extra weight of his armour. As soon as he hit solid ground, he rolled away from the cave’s edge and tried to calm the rapid pounding of his heart against his chest.

His attacker waited patiently a couple of feet away, far enough to be clear of Din’s flames. Din scrambled to his feet; his muscles already spent from his struggle.

A hunter. Humanoid. His slight, lithe body encompassed by a protective, airtight environmental suit; a rasping whisper coming from his breath mask.

He had planned this out carefully. Chosen someplace quiet. Discrete. Exploited his people’s weakness for younglings in distress… Must’ve been tracking Din for weeks. Fobs were only able to locate targets from a limited distance, and Din had been careful to not release his coordinates to anyone.

Slowly, the hunter pulled a weapon from his back. It was long – taller than the humanoid that weld it - twin serrated blades curving outwards from a central, twisted hilt.

He activated the weapon, and the blades pulsed into life.

Cortosis-weave technology… Din was not aware of many that were able to effectively master the power and discipline that came with wielding a vibro double-blade.

Keeping his gaze locked on the hunter and body lowered into a defensive stance, Din sidestepped away from the room’s edge. He’d rather not experience another near-death experience via gravity. The hunter’s green, horizontal visor followed Din’s every move. It was something Din was intimately familiar with - a predator waiting for the best moment to strike. Though, he wasn’t sure he appreciated being on the other side of the look - unused to playing the part of the prey.

Din wouldn’t be able to reach the bulky pulse rifle at his back fast enough, and he’d long ago depleted the last of his whistling birds. Instead, he swiftly pulled his own vibroblade (comically small compared to the hunter’s) from the sheath at his thigh.

From there, they lapsed into a tense, frozen silence.

_Why wasn’t he attacking?_

He’d successfully ambushed Din. Unarmed him of his blaster. Effectively put him on the defence. By all rights, he had the upper hand here. They both knew it… And yet, he waited.

It was only then, that the answer hit him.

He was giving Din a choice.

Submit?

_I can bring you in warm._

Din bit back a scoff. _Willingly hand himself over to the Empire. Abandon the child._

Flee?

_Or I can bring you in cold._

He recoiled at the idea. _Lead him directly to the more lucrative prize. Betray the child._

Fight.

“You chose the wrong puck.” Din murmured, adrenalin humming through his bloodstream.

The hunter did not reply; the cave silent bar for the buzzing of their vibroblades and the howling of the wind outside.

The blade afforded the hunter an extra several feet of reach, so Din’s survival relied on him getting up close, fast.

Anxious to make the first move before the hunter lost his patience, Din lunged forward.

The hunter responded in kind, deflecting his strikes with relative ease.

Din swiped and jabbed – more focused on speed and power than actual skill. The hunter dodged each attack swiftly, watching for the moment Din falters and slicing downwards at his legs when he spots the opportunity.

Din managed to jump over the blade, but before he’s able to recover his balance, the hunter strikes with the other side of the blade – momentum carrying through as he arcs his swing upwards. The blade bounced off the beskar protecting his chest, but the force of the blow causes Din to stagger.

The hunter could have ended it right there, but he allowed Din the space to back up - either surprised that his armour held up, or simply taking pleasure from the sight of a Mandalorian struggle under the ferocity of his assault.

He circled Din, flourishing his weapon with a showy spin.

_Definitely the latter._

Din gritted his teeth. The cocky bastard was holding back. Treating Din like a plaything. Frankly, it was insulting.

As the fight continued, the hunter maintained his defensive stance, poking at Din’s beskar mockingly each time he got too sloppy. He was enjoying this. He knew that he had the superior weapon, and yet he allowed Din to fight desperately for his life. If the hunter had wanted to end it, he would’ve done so already. He was savouring the imbalance of power.

The realisation spurs Din’s attacks on to become more unrestrained, leaving himself recklessly open as he puts his whole body into his strikes. The strategy pays off in the form of a long slash at the hunter’s chest – slicing through the material of his environmental suit.

The hunter jumped backward, the rasping whisper from his mask increasing in volume, taking on a tone of alarm as he brought a hand to try and block the air hissing out of his suit.

Din moved in to take advantage of the hunter’s distracted panic. He was exhausted, and he wanted this over with so he could check on his kid. But it was too soon. He was too eager. Din should’ve at least waited for him to drop his weapon.

_Rookie mistake._

The hunter tightened his grip around his double-blade, lashed out, and the metal carved into an unarmoured section of Din’s side, just above his belt. Something clattered to the ground beside them, and Din realised distantly that his vibroblade was no longer within his grasp.

For a moment, there was no pain, and Din wondered if he’d been cut at all. Then, the shock wore off, and it was back to good ol’ agony, the wound pulsating with each beat of his heart.

The hunter readied another strike, and Din staggered backward – his foot catching on a rock and leaving him on his ass. Din scooted backwards frantically, keeping a hand over the weeping wound at his side in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. He continued, all the way to the edge of the cavern.

Wind whipped at his back, his cape flapping wildly behind him, and the hunter stalked after him. He’d be the perfect image of composure, were it not for the rapid deflation of his environmental suit, and the wretched, strangled gasping coming from his breath mask.

Nowhere left to go, Din lowered his head, playing the part of defeat. From the corner of his eye he watched as the hunter raised the blade above his head, prepared to bring it down and claim his kill.

At the last moment, Din swung out a leg, kicking the hunter’s legs out from under him. The hunter loses his footing, and his grasp on his double-blade slips. Din dived forward, wrapped a hand around the weapon’s hilt, and jerked it towards him. As predicted, the hunter refused to relinquish his hold. From there, it was a simple case of gravity. He stumbles over, and all Din has to do is give him a little push, and he’s sent careening over the platform’s edge.

Din would’ve liked to see him hit the ground. If only to confirm his death, but he had far more pressing concerns. There was something prodding at the back of his mind, an uncomfortable unease twinging at him as the child’s distress bled through.

_He’s awake._

His child was awake, and he was in danger.

Dread settled low in his gut; tendrils of ice shooting upwards through his veins. It was rare for bounty hunters to work together on jobs. But with a reward as lucrative as the Empire was offering…

Din staggered to his feet, then picked up his vibroblade before exiting the cavern, his side aching something fierce with each rung of the ladder he climbed.

Fear building in his chest, Din sprinted back toward the Inn, ignoring the indignant objections as he bulldozed his way through the crowd. The movement made the pain spike afresh, sparking down his spine like an electrical current.

Stabs of emotion gushed hotly through their bond until Din could smother them closed. Fear. Concern. Betrayal. Din left him. Din left him _again_. He plugged each seeping mental fissure as they appeared. He couldn’t deal with it right now. He needed to focus.

He shouldered his way through the lodge’s doors, ignoring the heads that swung toward him. The Innkeep may have said something - some exclamation that barely registered through the flustered, pain-filled haze of Din’s mind.

Din burst through the room’s doors to find stained glass strewn across the bed and floor. When he glanced up, he discovered a sizeable hole in the roof. The hair on the back of his neck rose. Din did a visual sweep of the area, scanning for lifeforms in the vicinity.

There was a small heat signature coming from below the bed, and when Din ducked down to check it out, he was met with the child’s quivering form, huddled up against the back wall.

Din released a deep sigh of relief, the tension falling from his shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s me.”

Din reached toward him. His fingers were brushing the child’s robe when an arm wrapped around his throat and yanked him backward. The action was accompanied by an amalgamation of alarm and terror that wormed its way into Din’s mind, enhanced his own stab of panic.

He couldn’t see his attacker’s face, the only thing he was able to catch a glimpse of was the skin wrapped around his throat - dark grey, leathery, and striated. He was tightly trapped against their chest, his oxygen supply cut off and arms locked behind him.

He choked on gasping breaths and kicked at the ground, aiming to find some purchase so that he could throw the hunter off, but they brought their legs around Din’s thighs, securing the flailing limbs. Their hold was rock-solid, but Din doubted he’d be able to put up much of a fight even if they’d been using half their strength. He was hurting, he was malnourished, and he’d been physically and mentally exhausted long before he’d even stepped foot on Nummunr.

From the corner of his eye, Din saw that the child had emerged from beneath the bed, his little face scrunched with concentration as he raised an open palm.

The child faded from his view as his vision began spotting at his peripherals, black spots threatening to consume his sight. The crushing pressure at his throat didn’t let up, and Din’s struggles diminished, his lungs burning. It’d be so easy to allow his eyes to slip closed, but Din clung desperately to consciousness.

He could detect the exact moment the hunter stiffened in surprise behind him. The tight grasp around Din faltered, and he could hear the choked rasp of the hunter’s throat. They writhed, fighting against the phantom pressure constricting their throat, tighter and tighter. There was one final sharp jerk, before the body went lax and lifeless, and Din was released.

He rolled away from the body and coughed, his throat raw from the abuse, then heaved in great big gulps of air. He almost wanted to take off his helmet, unable to refill his lungs with oxygen fast enough.

Beside him, the child whimpered - his wide, black eyes brimming with tears.

Din lifted him into his arms, cringing slightly when the movement pulled at the wound in his size. He lightly pressed the cool metal at his forehead against the child’s, drawing comfort from the bond that linked them. To know in mind and body that he was there. He was alive. He was safe.

“ _Ni ceta…_ ” He breathed, barely able to articulate more than a croak.

He knew the apology was nowhere near enough. Knew he wasn’t worthy to call himself father.

Suddenly, Din felt a shift in the tightness of his throat, his ability to breathe returning as his airways cleared. He peered down, confused, to find the child’s hand lifted towards him, his little face morphed into one of intense focus.

Din startled, jostling the child in his rush to stop him.

“You…” He swallowed, cringing when it felt like he was trying to force down broken glass. His voice was already clearer than it’d been a moment ago, but the dry rasp was still present, “You don’t have to do that.”

He closed his eyes to the hurt confusion growing across the little one’s features. He didn’t want to use the child. He wasn’t an Imperial. He didn’t want to exploit his power. It wasn’t for Din. Wasn’t for anyone.

He petted the side of the child’s face, intending to soothe, but only accomplishing to leave behind a bloody streak from the hand he’d been keeping against his side. Din didn’t think he could’ve thought of a better visual metaphor for the last couple of weeks with the kid if he’d tried.

The child stared up at him, giving a quiet, sad warble. Din looked around at the room, examining the large hole in the ceiling with a deep sigh.

“Just one of those days, huh?” He murmured.

They would have to move. Get off this planet and as far away as possible, damaged Crest or not. If two hunters could track him here, there was a high likelihood they’d be more. This whole region was compromised.

\---------------

Din’s heart was jackhammering against his chest as he waded through the crowd of people. This was exactly where he didn’t want to be. It would be so easy for someone to slip a blade as they passed – gut him and then disappear into the sea of faces around him.

The child was tightly strapped to his back. At some point, his presence had pulled back from Din’s mind. Not entirely. He seemed intent on keeping Din close after he’d left him alone in the room, but Din sensed he had more space for private thought than before. It disturbed him somewhat, to know his mind was so easily invaded by one so young. Compared to Din’s, the kid’s feelings almost seemed heightened – so intense that the barrage of emotions had a tendency to overcome his own.

Each heavy footfall sent a pang of agony through his side. Din rounded a corner into an alley and hunched over, his breath catching in his throat. He felt woozy and weak, his muscles trembling from fatigue. He pulled a hand away from where he’d been stemming the flow of blood, quickly replacing it when he found his gloved fingers stained with red. That wasn’t good.

At this rate, Din wasn’t going to be able to make it back to the Crest. He could try closing it, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to endure the cauterization process without passing out.

Din glanced up, and ice-cold dread filled his veins at the sight of a large figure standing at the alley’s opening. He looked more the part of a mercenary or a soldier than a hunter. Imposing and powerfully built, with heavy armour secured over broad shoulders.

The figure took a step toward him, and Din lashed out. The man easily caught the clumsy punch, his hand closing around Din’s smaller one.

“Haar'chak, Din! Ni gar tomad!”

Din froze. These days, only a rare few knew how to speak Mando’a. And even fewer knew his name. He did a double take, examining the man’s stance. The massive, muscular physique. The way he utilized every inch of his frame to loom over Din menacingly. The low gravel of his voice. The more he looked, the more the puzzle pieces began to slot into place.

“Paz?”

The moment the name popped into his mind; Din wondered how he hadn’t recognised him sooner. Vizsla had always been big. The first choice for heavy infantry. A through and through warrior. Intimidating, even when they were kids.

Din met his gaze, and all at once, it struck him that he was staring at Paz’s maskless face. He lowered his eyes immediately, turning his head downward. It felt too intimate. Taboo. As if he had walked across the man stark naked. He wished to unsee the strong lines of his features, but it was as if they’d been etched into his brain.

Paz was practically the epitome of Mandalorian virtue – his temperament a healthy blend of aggression, tenacity, and loyalty, wrapped up in a solid unit of a man with a short fuse and an overwhelming passion for heavy artillery. Paz had been so obsessed with maintaining his veneer of honour and glory, that when Din had discovered his abandoned helmet back at the covert, he’d automatically presumed that the man had died a warrior’s death. He would’ve been the last Din would’ve guessed to choose to remove the helmet.

“Who else?” He replied.

Din opened his mouth, only to immediately close it. Another hunter. An Imp. Perhaps just a local that decided he wasn’t welcome. Though Din had a tendency to trust the better character of strangers, any optimism had been tempered by a multitude of near-death experiences and easily foreseeable betrayals.

Paz’s cool collectedness to their surprise reunion was a paradox to the whirlwind of thoughts going through Din’s head – the relief of seeing a familiar face combined with the shock and confusion of it being Paz, whirled together into a disorientating maelstrom.

Din got the uncomfortable sensation of being scrutinized. He glimpsed back to Paz’s face to find his gaze locked on his right pauldron. At first, Din thought he was examining the mudhorn signet branded into the beskar, but when Din followed the line of his gaze, he was met with the child’s small head poking out over his shoulder.

Din placed a palm over the head and nudged him lightly back into his travel basket, hiding him from view.

 _Stay down, adi’ka._ He pushed the thought outwards, hoping that the kid would both understand and follow the instruction. Din felt his apprehension, his discomfort with being left in the dark confines of the carrier, all of it spun together, tangled around Din’s own pounding heartbeat, the nerves crawling cold up his spine.

Paz had been willing to help him save a child from the clutches of the Imperials, but he wasn’t sure if he’d done so if he was aware of the kid’s potential ties. Vizsla’s clan was infamous for their hatred for the _Jetii_. Din had no way of knowing how Paz would react to the truth. He was bull-headed and quick to anger. From Paz’s view, the child could be an enemy.

In the ensuing silence, Paz’s eyes dropped to his side, and he sucked in a sharp intake of breath, “ _Wayii.”_

What happened next wasn’t Paz’s fault. He’d always been more partial to casual touch than Din, but when he brought a hand to the blood staining his side, Din felt his muscles instantly coil with tension. He didn’t go as far as to reach for any of his weapons, but his balance instinctively shifted into a defensive stance before he could think to conceal the movement.

Paz let go of him immediately, and though he didn’t comment on the reaction, Paz was not able to disguise his hurt frown. Din knew near instantly that his response had been taken the wrong way, and his mind scrambled for a way to take it back. He could try to reassure the man. To let him know that Din did not see him as a _Dar’manda_ , even without the helmet. That he was still respected. That he was glad to see him, alive and well. But in his heart, he knew Paz was unlikely to be convinced. For him, physical action spoke far louder than words could. The harm had already been done, albeit unintentional, and the knowledge sat in Din’s stomach like a ball of lead.

Din opened his mouth, but Paz spoke before he could form the jumbled words in his head into a coherent sentence.

“What happened?” Paz asked, the nonchalance in his tone laid on a little too thick to be genuine.

“We were tracked… Two hunters.” He croaked, providing only the bare bones of what Paz required to know.

Paz’s brows rose, “Two in one day? You’re popular.”

“That’s one word for it.” Din replied dryly, quiet exhaustion in the comment.

Din shifted the child’s weight on his back, biting back the hiss when the movement sent a jolt of pain up his spine. He needn’t have bothered, as Paz seemed to catch how unsteady he was regardless - his arm coming forward to catch him, then hesitating before he could make contact.

“We’re not safe here.” He stated.

Paz frowned, “Something give you the impression that there’ll be more?”

Din shrugged. He didn’t have any concrete proof to present. Just instinct gnawing uncomfortably at his gut.

“Hm.” Paz hummed to himself, “Jate’shya tsikala shya kyrayc.”

 _Better to be prepared than to be dead._ He and Paz shared that sentiment, at least.

“Let’s move then.” He turned around, and began to walk away, pausing when Din remained where he was.

“You coming?”

“What?” Realising he’d been misunderstood him, Din clarified. “By ‘here’, I meant this solar system, not this alley.”

“You can barely stand. If you were to cross another hunter, you’d be unable to protect yourself, let alone your child.” Paz pointed out scathingly.

Din clenched his fists. Paz spoke truth. As much as Din didn’t want to hear it, he was essentially useless to the child in his current state.

Paz tilted his head, trying to catch Din’s wayward gaze, and softened his tone, “I’ve got bacta back at my place that could help.”

Din paused, reading between the lines to see the offer for what it was. Paz was opening up his home to him. Presenting him someplace he could lay low and rest. Din took a moment to reconsider his options. The trek through the jungle back to the Crest would be long and arduous and Din was already injured and exhausted. He couldn’t deny it would be safer with Paz. Despite their disagreements, Din trusted him with his own life, if not the child’s.

Sensing his hesitation, Paz prompted, “Little one must be hungry.”

Din’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and Din was reminded of his own hunger. The offer was a tempting one, and the fact that Din hadn’t yet jumped to politely refusing it told him exactly how much he wanted it.

He caved with a single nod.

Paz led him through the city, passing bridges and scaling staircases that wound around the great blue gemstone. Din kept close to Paz, taking advantage of the way his larger frame was able to cut through the crowd. His eyes kept flicking to Paz’s bare head, before he caught himself and dropped them back to his boots.

“Are we going to discuss it?” Din asked, his voice strained.

“Discuss what?”

“Paz, I…” He sighed. “I was at the covert. I saw what happened.”

Paz stopped, turning toward him.

Din averted his gaze, working his throat, “I should have been there.”

For a moment he simply looked at Din, then he turned, muttered gravely “Yes. You should have.” And continued on.

Din inwardly cringed, a strange ache slamming into his chest. For some reason, the morose reaction was a million times worse than if the man had blown up at him.

They finally pulled to a stop at what looked like a shop. At the door, Paz entered a code, gesturing Din to enter when it opened.

Inside, he looked over what could only be described as a fully equipped Mandalorian armoury. The store’s walls were lined with weapons. Ranging from blaster pistols, carbine rifles and disintegrators to axes, rippers, and light repeaters.

“You’re staying with an arm’s dealer?”

“No. Who do you think I am?” Paz scoffed, “This store is mine.”

He led him behind the counter, and Din eyed the missile launcher displayed overhead. He shouldn’t have needed to ask. The place was very Paz. Din followed him through a doorway of dangling turquoise beads. Paz began removing his boots, settling them beside the threshold, and Din followed by his example, unclasping his own before placing them beside Paz’s comparatively larger ones.

The back area was much friendlier than the front. Thankfully, the room was a far-cry from the one at the lodge; walls windowless, area sparsely decorated and dimly lit. It reminded Din of the covert, and he felt himself relax a fraction at the familiarity.

Din removed the child from his carrier and carefully lowered him to the floor.

Paz passed him a cloth to press against his side, then set to preparing them something to eat.

“The kid have a name yet?” He asked, his back turned to Din as he pulled a variety of spices from a cupboard.

Din grimaced as he put pressure on his wound, “No.”

The kid toddled around the room, seemingly content to explore his new surroundings for a while.

Paz thought to himself for a moment, then turned, a handful of ingredients balanced between his arms, “What about fathier-eared bistan?”

Din fixed Paz an unimpressed glare through his helmet, trusting that Paz could read the faceless expression after a lifetime around fellow Mandalorians in the covert.

“No? Hm…”

Paz reached for a knife, and Din’s heart clenched, his eyes unconsciously flicking to the child.

“How’s mutated ewok sound?” He asked, oblivious to Din’s tension, before he began slicing vegetables with impressive speed and dexterity.

In light of a suggestion that didn’t really deserve the dignity of a response, Din’s silence was easily overlooked. Din took a few long, slow breaths, before settling into a chair. He sunk backwards, throwing a hand over the top rail of the chair, and putting up his feet on the seat opposite him.

“Strand-cast reject?”

Din scowled. These were getting progressively worse.

As if having picked up on Din’s souring mood, the child gave his mind a gentle nudge. Din flinched at the mental touch, before somewhat stiffly returning his own sense of reassurance.

Paz threw the diced food into a pot, then began to mix in his concoction of spices, “Evolved Hutt-spawn?”

Din gritted his teeth.

“Osik magnet?

“ _Vizsla_.” He growled, low and dangerous.

Paz was unsurprisingly undeterred by the tone.

It’d always been like this. Paz pushing until one of them cracked, testing whose short fuse would blow first.

“Come on.” Paz chuckled, “That one’s good. Appropriate, don’t you think? Just attaining the kid has already caused a meteorite storm's worth of trouble. How a creature so small is capable of leading to the downfall of an entire covert of Mandalorians, I will never know.”

Din eyed him, looking for signs of resentment beneath Paz’s composed surface, but despite the serious implication of his words, there was far more humour than malice in Paz’s tone.

“He already shares your chaotic ways, Djarin. Born and bred troublemakers, the two of you are.”

Din couldn’t exactly disagree. Not to the face of a man that had been unwillingly stripped of his entire previous way of life due to Din’s actions.

The child teetered his way over to Paz, then wrapped his arms around the bulk of one of Paz’s legs and released a chirp. Paz looked down at him with an incredibly fond expression. Paz liked to put up the front of the cold badass, but there was no concealing how quickly that façade melted away in the kid’s presence. It was somewhat unsurprising that after a lifetime under a helmet, the man wasn’t great at hiding his expressions.

“Have you begun teaching him the Resol'nare?”

Din looked away sheepishly, “Not as of yet.”

“If he is to be one of us…” Paz made a contemplative noise, “All I am saying is that is never too early for the little one to learn.”

He picked the child up, settling the little one against his hip as he went back to cooking their meal. Din could smell the food from where he sat, and he recognised the dish immediately, the spices pungent enough to burn at his nose hairs from beneath the helmet. _Tiingular._ Again, Din was reminded of home, and his stomach growled hungrily at the scent.

“Of course, you have completed the _Gai bal manda_.” It was phrased as a statement – surely, s _urely_ Din had officially adopted the child - but there was a tinge of uncertainty in Paz’s tone, one that required some form of reassurance from Din.

When Din failed to reply, his throat thick, Paz’s frown deepened.

“You _haven’t_?” He barked, appalled. The child peered up Paz, puzzled by the loud exclamation.

Din’s mouth twisted as he increased the pressure against his side.

“For what reason would you not claim him as your own? _Osi’kyr_ , Djarin. Do you not want the child?”

“No!” Din snapped back with such vehemence that it surprised even him.

Not teaching the child the ways of the Resol’nare was one thing. He was young, and still had plenty of time to learn. Refusing to take him in was entirely another. The foundation of Mandalorian culture was family. Din had known this from the very first day he'd been taken in as a foundling. To refuse this… It was not the way.

But it was more complicated than that. The child was… different, to say the least, and the time for reflection had been in short supply even before Moff Gideon had decided to bring down the whole galaxy upon them. He was used to living in the present moment, survival in his career demanded both mobility and adaptability on a day-to-day basis, but it resulted in a tendency to place any issue that wasn’t immediately life-threatening to the side. What Din didn’t do, was openly entertain his attachment to the little one – cutting off those thoughts before they could become a potentially lethal distraction. Priorities were important, and he hadn’t allowed his perceived relationship to the child to surface to the top until the Armorer had declared him _buir_.

Father. He felt disconnected from the word. Not in terms of rejection or denial, but more in the realm of a state of astonishment. He’d been conflicted about their relationship ever since he’d picked up the child. Uncertain of how he was supposed to care for him. If he could allow himself to care for him without growing attached. Afraid of what his tribe would think. Fearful of the permanence of their arrangement. And yet somehow, the Armorer had managed to take one look at the two of them and quell all that complexity by putting a name to what Din had felt the moment he had first laid eyes on the kid.

He could very well be the last of his kind. Both in terms of his species and his culture. Din had no desire to hand him over to any remaining _Jetii_. What little information he was able to scavenge about the space sorcerers indicated that it’d been an incredibly conservative religious sect that indoctrinated very young children into their order, brainwashed them into emotional repression, then forced them to cut any ties to familial attachment. None of which, Din was on board with.

However, if the child’s parents were still alive, Din would have to let him go. The kid’s species seemed to be incredibly rare, if not entirely unknown, and Din understood the importance and enormity of that. But if he performed the vow, Din knew in his heart that he’d be unable to go through with that.

Din found himself suddenly on his feet, his stance tight and rigid. He didn’t know where he planned to go - his only criterium being _anywhere but here_. He was sick of this. He had gone through his entire life feeling unworthy, spent every moment, dedicated to proving his honour, trying to show Vizsla and the others that he was just as much a warrior as them - desperate to live up to the expectations of those he looked up to. He had withstood their judgement and hostility. Allowed himself to be looked down upon with contempt without comment.

 _No more._ Their Matriarch had declared Din the child’s father, and Paz had no right to criticize how he raised his son.

To Din’s relief, Paz broke the tense silence by handing him a bowl of food, “Here.”

Din stared at the dish dumbly, experiencing a bit of emotional whiplash from Paz’s sudden dismissal of the topic.

“What? I’m not so cruel as to make you wait for me to pass out so you can sneak some food under the helmet. There’s a room down the hall, to your right. Feel free to wash up. There should be some bacta in the ‘fresher.”

Again, the offer was tempting, but Din hesitated, looking to the child in his arms.

Paz smirked, shaking his head. “Relax _buir_. You can leave him with me for a couple of minutes. He’ll be fine. We’ll get to know each other.”

Din didn’t want to giv Paz the impression that he had a problem with leaving the child with him, and he doubted the kid could do anything within the short while he was away that revealed to Paz he was harbouring a potential _Jetii_ , so he took the steaming bowl and stalked away.

As he left, he heard the child fuss behind him, making an unhappy noise.

 _Stay,_ he projected firmly. It was equal parts instruction and request, as he opened his mind up a little, tugging lightly at the bright portion of light brushing against his mind, allowing room for the little one’s presence. The kid filled the space immediately, content with Din’s compromise.

Din entered the spare room, checking that the door had clicked shut behind him, then placed his bowl on a bedside counter. He removed his helmet, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair and pausing at the scar towards the back of his head.

Din scoffed down his food. The meal was heaven. Fresh and far more flavourful than the dull, tasteless rations Din had grown used to, the spices spreading across his lips and igniting his tongue. Only slowing when his mouth went numb and his eyes began to water from the heat.

Once his bowl was practically licked clean, Din set it aside and removed the upper portion of his beskar’gam, uncomfortable with the thought of leaving himself any more vulnerable after the luck he’d had today.

The wound at his side had already scabbed over, the dried blood causing his skin to stick to the fabric of his _kute_. If he were to pull the shirt off, he risked ripping the cut open again, not to mention bleeding all over Paz’s room. Din already felt woozy from blood loss. He was not particular fond of the idea of losing more.

His solution was to stand under the sonic shower, fully clothed – his armour still attached blow the waist. That plan, however, had one notable flaw. And it wasn’t until Din felt a deluge of warm water rather than the odd sensation of sonic against his skin, that he realised he’d made a grave error here.

_Please, for Kriff’s sake. Could the universe give him a break for three seconds?_

It’d been a long time since Din had encountered something like this. Water was considered an incredibly valuable resource on any desert planet, as well as on any ship within the empty vacuum of space.

He stepped out of the stall, absolutely soaked, feeling ten times heavier than he had when he’d initially entered. He sighed deeply, then turned to stare at the dumbass in the mirror. He looked about as rough as he felt. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, the stubble at his chin was overgrown and he was more pale than usual - likely a result of blood loss.

Paz searched through the cabinets until he found a stash of bacta patches, then carefully lifted his shirt. He applied the bandage carefully, before he put his beskar back on.

Din was still dripping everywhere, but at the very least, he was clean. He put one heavy foot after the other, making his way back to Paz and the child, fully prepared to be mocked for his incompetence.

What he wasn’t ready for, was to find Paz with his activated vibroknife held up to the child.

The bowl in Din’s grasp fell, forgotten to the ground, and by the time Paz raised his head to the crashing noise behind him as the ceramic shattered across the floor, Din was already halfway across the room, diving for him.

Paz had very little time to react, and Din had him on his ass in about five seconds flat, fury and protective instinct taking over as he forced him to the floor.

“Din!” Paz’s shout was muffled against the ground, but he didn’t try to fight Din, “ _Udesii_! You’ve misread the situation.”

 _Misread?_ Water dripped from Din’s clothes to Paz as he pressed him a little harder into the floor, anger sparking through him. The situation looked pretty clear from where he’d been standing.

He must’ve spoken his mind, because Paz responded immediately, “You don’t believe me? I can show you.”

Din clenched his jaw, dubious.

Paz released a long-suffering sigh, then requested, uncharacteristically polite, “Can you let me show you?”

He glanced towards the child. He looked a little startled by their scuffle, but Din hadn’t felt a hint of fear from the little one. Not like before. He allowed Paz some space to move, tracking his movements intently.

“Watch-“

Paz rose his vibroknife, choreographing each movement slowly and deliberately for Din’s eyes, then switched it on.

The child’s eyes widened, then he laughed, making little grabby hands towards the weapon, fascinated by the blur of metal.

Din stared, bewildered by the reaction, then deflated, his out-for-blood-and-its-gonna-be-yours demeanour vanishing. His posture relaxed, even crouched over Paz like he was, and as his shoulders slouched his head followed, hanging low in a gesture of half-shame, half-relief.

Paz swallowed, “I’ve noticed that you’re a little… _On edge_ , Din.”

Realizing that he’d draped his waterlogged frame over Paz, effectively drenching the man with him, Din got up, swaying a little when the sharp change in equilibrium caused his head to spin.

“Lack of sleep.” He said quietly.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was so far from the true extent of things that it may as well have been considered one.

“Spare room is free.” Paz replied. As if Din hadn’t just attacked him. As if he hadn’t inadvertently accused him of attempted assault of his child.

At this point, it would be outright imprudent for Din to refuse. He needed somewhere to lay low. Recuperate for a day or two. This could still work. An opportunity like this was unlikely to arise again anytime soon. Yet somehow, he couldn’t form the words, his tongue stuck at the back of his throat.

“I pity the poor fool that tries to follow you here, if that’s what worries you. But if it makes you feel better, I can stand watch tonight.”

That was the final thing that sealed it for Din, and he accepted gratefully with a nod before he could make more of an impertinent idiot of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni ceta: I’m sorry (lit. I kneel), grovelling apology – rare  
> Haar'chak: damn it!  
> Ni gar tomad: I’m your ally (initially was going to use friend, but this seemed more appropriate as by the end of ep 3, I got the impression Din and Paz operated more on a basis of mutual respect to the tribe than anything else.)  
> Jetii: Jedi (just in case that wasn’t obvious).  
> Wayii: general exclamation of surprise, good or bad (lit. good grief!)  
> Dar'manda: soulless person, someone who has lost their heritage and identity, and would have no soul and no afterlife (lit. non-Mandalorian). Regarded with absolute dread by most conservative Mandalorians.  
> K’dumi ruyot ash’amur. Kyr’amur ret’lini: let the past die. Kill it, just in case.  
> Resol'nare: the six central tenets of Mandalorian culture (lit. the six actions); wearing armour, self-defence, speaking Mando’a, defending oneself and family, raising your children as Mandalorians, contributing to the tribe’s warfare, rallying to the cause of Mand’alor when called upon.  
> Gai bal manda: name for the traditional adoption ritual (lit. name and soul)  
> Osi’kyr: strong exclamation of surprise or dismay (lit. shit)  
> Buir: mum/dad (lit. parent)  
> Kute: underwear/bodysuit; something worn under armour.  
> Udesii!: calm down/take it easy!
> 
> If you want to see the translations while you’re reading the fic, just *control f* and copy paste the phrase into the bar that pops up. Makes things go a lot faster,
> 
> God, why did I write three (3) different fighting scenes into this chapter why do I inflict such pain upon myself.
> 
> Not gonna lie, I don’t know much about the Vizsla clan lore so if anyone wants to correct me on any of that feel free.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando’ika: little Mandalorian – this one isn’t canon so take it with a grain of salt (ika is a diminutive suffix that can be added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form)
> 
> The laws around force bonds in canon aren’t very concrete from the information I’ve looked through, but one thing that seems to be a constant between websites is that they only occur between beings that are force sensitive. Which is inconvenient, as I’d like to think that Din is as force sensitive as a brick, and that while he loves the child, any force-like projections in the bond are a one-way street from yodito to him. So, I may or may not be flipping canon the bird here.
> 
> Thinking positive thoughts. I’m not falling into bad habits again. I’ve outlined this story. I’m going to finish this fic.  
> I will rip the fingers from my hands before I type out the word ‘transperisteel’ in place of glass.


End file.
